


This Time, Without The Trout

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Happy Ending, M/M, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, POV First Person, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16767151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: All Vecchio wanted was to do something nice for Fraser for his birthday, but Fraser and Kowalski never make anything simple.





	This Time, Without The Trout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KagekaNecavi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KagekaNecavi/gifts).



> Thanks to Scribe for beta and M. for last-minute brainstorming! (And for the suggestions I didn't implement: it's not that I disagree, but I couldn't figure out how to do it.)

It’s one of those perfect June days that happen about once a year. Blue sky, not too muggy, birds chirping if you should happen to pass a tree, and all of Chicago is singing in tune. Especially yours truly. It's Kowalski's turn to drive, and Monday's a Consulate day for Fraser, so I'm riding shotgun in the GTO with the window down, breathing in the less-poisonous-than-usual city air and planning what I'm going to do for Fraser for his birthday.

It can't be just anything. I really need to do it up right. Because, see. . .I mean, even under normal circumstances, you do something nice for your best pal on his birthday. But when you’ve just gotten back not so long ago from two years away on an undercover gig, and said best pal has been holding the bag all this time, keeping up your cover while you’re away, even though you skipped town pretty much without warning. . .well, those are pretty special circumstances, and they call for a pretty special birthday celebration.

Question is, what kind?

Fancy dinner’s always an option. Benny isn't picky, he'll eat anything (and I do mean anything), but he's secretly kind of a foodie. Or maybe I should throw him a party. But who should I invite? Would he want the Dragon Lady and Turnbull at his birthday shindig, or the homeless lady who camps out in a tent by the station visitors’ lot? Or both? For that matter, I've never been 100% sure whether parties are even his thing. He’s social, but in kind of a loner-y way, you know?

And come to think of it (and I smack myself on the forehead for having taken this long to think of it), the one person besides me that Fraser would definitely want at a birthday party is the person I ought to be including in the party-planning. Namely, my own damn official cop partner, aka Fraser’s other best friend, aka Stanley Raymond Kowalski.

Truth to tell, Kowalski and I get along pretty good these days. It was mostly self-defense at first, because when Welsh stuck us with each other as partners, it was either learn to spend eight hours a day together without killing each other or. . .well, or nothing, so we learned. But it turns out Kowalski’s a decent guy, and a way better than decent cop. Got a temper, kind of cranky, but you know, I don’t exactly have a leg to stand on there myself. And the thing is, we maybe don’t see eye to eye on certain things, but we’re a hell of a lot more like each other than either of us is like Fraser. And honestly, it’s nice to have someone around to back me up when Fraser needs to be reined in, or to commiserate with when Fraser sweeps us both off on some ridiculous crusade. Someone to exchange a _What can you do?_ eye-roll with before you a follow guy in a red tunic and silly hat into a mob hangout—or a dumpster. Someone who gives as much of a damn about your best friend as you do.

Which is the point, here. Kowalski’s as much Fraser’s partner—as much his friend—as I am, these days. And that means it’d be pretty damn rude to leave him out of my plans for Fraser’s birthday. Not to mention, then he’d make some plan of his own and we’d end up stepping on each other’s toes and putting Benny in an awkward spot.

So, I'd better read Kowalski in, ASAP. And hey, we’re minus Fraser and nobody’s shooting at us or running away from us right at the moment, so what better time to talk about him behind his back?

“So, Kowalski.”

“So, what?”

These are the first words anybody's said since we got in the car. Kowalski's been weirdly quiet all morning, actually. Not singing in tune with June like the rest of us. Maybe he partied too hard over the weekend, maybe he's got allergies, what do I know?

“So, Fraser’s birthday’s coming up, I was thinking it’d be nice to do something special for him. You got any ideas what he might want?”

“All Fraser wants is a ticket to Canada,” Kowalski snaps viciously. Seriously, if he didn’t have his hands on the wheel I’d be worried he was going to haul off and punch me. What the hell? 

“You know something I don’t?” I ask, trying to keep cool, even though my heart’s suddenly going a mile a minute. “Fraser’s not planning to transfer or something, is he?” 

Kowalski glances over at me, then deflates as suddenly as he lashed out.

“Nah. Not that I know of. I was just. . .running my mouth. Sorry.”

“Okay.” I’m so relieved that I can’t even be bothered to give him shit for flying off the handle at me like that. Besides, now he looks so bummed I don’t have the heart to pick on him.

“Look, I don’t know,” he sighs after a moment. He scrubs one hand over his mouth, eyes on the road. “Take him someplace nice to eat, get tickets to the ballet or something. Night on the town, Fraser-style.”

I want to ask him what the hell is the matter with him, but the odds are good he’d just blow his stack all over again, so instead I just ask, “If I do, you want in?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, in a tone that sounds more like _Whatever, just stop bugging me_. But then he kind of shakes himself and adds, “Thanks for—for thinking of it. Being on top of things.”

“Hey, that’s why they pay me the big bucks.” Actually, being on top of things is usually Fraser’s department, but Kowalski doesn’t even call me on it. 

* * *

Well, shit. What the hell? 

Is Fraser planning to skip town? He wouldn’t do that without warning me, would he? Although. . .I did exactly that to him when I took the Vegas gig. But Fraser’s not that kind of vindictive. On the other hand, he’s pretty closed-mouthed about his personal business, even with me. I would’ve thought that went for Kowalski, too, but maybe things are different with them, maybe they talk, what do I know? Or maybe Kowalski just picked up some sort of vibe and was taking a stab in the dark.

Or maybe that Canada crack was just a figure of speech and what Kowalski meant was Fraser’s pissed at him for some reason. If so, whatever it was must’ve _just_ happened, because Fraser and Kowalski were just as buddy-buddy as always on Friday.

Soon as five o’clock rolls around, I’m out of the station and headed over to the consulate to find out what the hell’s going on with Fraser. I find him sitting at the reception desk, signing and stamping a giant pile of documents. He looks up with a polite public servant smile that morphs into a real one when he sees it’s me instead of some tourist looking to replace a lost passport. 

“Hey Benny, how’s it hanging?”

“I’m almost done with these 34-stroke-C forms. Do you need my assistance with something?”

“Nah, I’m off duty, and you should be, too, it’s past five. I thought maybe we could catch dinner.”

“I’d love to,” he says. “If you’ll give me a moment; I just have a few more forms to process.” 

“No sweat.” 

I park my ass on the edge of the desk, but it doesn’t get a rise out of him; he just goes back to the papers: scribble, stamp, onto the other pile. He’s fast and efficient like always, but he’s missing his usual pizzaz.

In the car, we talk about this and that, the same mix of everyday stuff and weird Fraser stuff as always, but it’s still like someone turned the volume down and Fraser’s only coming through at maybe 70%. Anyone else, I’d think they were just tired at the end of a long day, or maybe coming down with a cold, but Fraser doesn’t get worn out sitting on his ass doing paperwork, and he doesn’t get sick, period. When Fraser goes quiet like this, that’s a sure sign he’s feeling down. Canada or Kowalski or something else entirely, I’d better figure out what the matter is. But one thing I’ve learned about Benny, asking him what’s on his mind usually just makes him clam up and pretend everything’s fine. You’ve got to take the long way around if you want to get anywhere with him. 

So, I take him to that diner he likes near the new Consulate building, the one he discovered while I was away. Once we’re sitting in a booth with our food in front of us, I ask, all casual-like, “Hey, so Kowalski and I were talking about what we could do for you for your birthday. Got any special requests?”

Fraser looks way more surprised than he has any right to be, because, come on, me and Kowalski, we’re his best buddies. But I can’t really be offended, because Benny, well, he hasn’t had a lot of close friends in his life, as far as I can figure. Not as an adult, anyway. So, between that and the whole raised-in-the-frozen-wastelands thing, there are some rules of friendship he doesn’t get. 

“That’s very thoughtful of you—of both of you,” he says. “But you needn’t feel obliged—”

“We want to,” I interrupt. But now the weirdness with Kowalski has me second-guessing myself. Maybe this isn’t just Fraser’s standard politeness, maybe he’s trying to give me a hint. “Unless you’re not into the whole birthday thing, but I thought. . .you used to like it, right?”

“Yes,” says Fraser hastily, nodding. “It meant a lot to me when you used to orchestrate birthday celebrations for me, before. . .well. It meant a lot to me—it _means_ a lot to me—to have friends who would do that for me. And I’d happily celebrate with you and Ray this year. Thank you, kindly.”

That was his totally-sincere voice, and that look he’s giving me, with the soft little smile twitching the corners of his mouth ‘cause he won’t just let go and let it show? That’s the way he looks when he gets a treat he really wants but figured he was never gonna get. I’ve only seen it once or twice, and it doesn’t look like anything else.

“Don’t mention it,” I tell him, with a broad grin to cover how soft and warm and Hallmark-y I feel, hearing him say that, knowing he means it. That we’re still that kind of friends, in his book. Not that I doubted it, but. . .okay, maybe I was kind of worried for a while, there. Maybe I still am, a little. 

“So, no other plans, yet?” I ask, although what other plans he could possibly have, I don’t know. Except, _Canada. . ._

“No, no other plans,” says Fraser, and suddenly he gets this wistful expression and his gaze wanders off over my shoulder, like he’s a million miles away. Pining for the ice fields? Maybe Kowalski had it right after all? The thought makes a cold lump in my gut.

He pulls himself back from wherever his head wanders off to, there, and focuses on me as he says, “I’m entirely at your and Ray’s disposal.”

“Excellent. Stick with us, we’ll show you a good time. American style, of course.”

That gets a little twinkle back into his eyes.

“Of course,” he echoes, solemnly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Which is all well and good, but clearly, I’ve still got more fishing to do.

“Hey, speaking of which, when’s Kowalski’s birthday? We should totally do something for him when it comes around.”

“December twentieth,” he replies, beaming at me again like I’ve done something special. “And Ray, may I just say, I commend your efforts to, shall we say, bridge the gap with Ray?”

“What, I’m not gonna do something to celebrate my partner’s birthday? What kind of jerk do you think I am?” I grouse, through truth to tell, it’s nice to hear him say so.

“I don’t think you’re a jerk at all, Ray. I think you’re a good friend.”

Aw, okay, now we’re really getting mushy, this is getting embarrassing. I swat him on the shoulder and mumble, “Back atcha, pal.”

One thing for sure, Fraser ain't acting like he’s got a beef with Kowalski. All I’m getting here is how much he wants me and Kowalski to make nice with each other, which has been obvious since the two of them busted into my room at the Hotel California and blew my cover back in March. 

But is that because he wants us all to be pals together? Or because he wants to make sure me and Kowalski have each other’s backs when he up and disappears on us?

“So. . .December twentieth, huh?” I say to buy some time while I figure out how to get this fishing expedition back on track. “Boy, that must’ve sucked when he was a kid.”

“Why?”

“Too close to Christmas. Short end of the stick on parties and presents.”

“Oh. Yes, I see,” says Fraser. Damn it, sometimes I forget that his family didn’t do much with either Christmas or birthdays when he was growing up. All the more reason for me to do things up right for him now. 

“He did say something to that effect once,” Fraser goes on. 

“That mean he’s sour on the whole birthday thing? Or does he like to make up for lost time?”

“Ray relishes celebrations in general. And I think birthdays are meaningful to him. He went out of his way to celebrate mine, last year,” he says, and then shuts his mouth too fast, like there was something else he was about to say but didn’t. 

Hey, now we're getting somewhere!

“Oh yeah?” I ask, playing like I’m just casually curious. “He get you a cool present?”

“He took me on a camping trip, actually,” Fraser answers, but before I can pump him for details, he adds, “And he enjoyed the parties we threw for him at the precinct these past two years, in honor of your birthday.”

“You made him celebrate _my_ birthday?”

“Well, he _was_ you at the time. So to speak.” Fraser throws me a. . .guilty? glance, then goes on, flustered and too fast and not looking me in the face, “The first year, with your birthday coming so soon after your. . .departure, the party was by way of shoring up your respective covers, as much as anything. But it went off so well, we decided to repeat the tradition this past September. Ray very much enjoyed convincing people to try their hand at bobbing for trout, and Detective Huey took on all challengers at cabbage-kicking.”

“Cabbage what, now?” I ask, in spite of the fact that I can damn well tell he’s trying to distract me. From what, I don’t know, so I guess it’s working, damn it.

“Kicking. Not strictly traditional, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him so. He was determined to redeem his honor after his unfortunate showing the first year. But that isn’t important right now,” he adds, which is a classic Benny move meaning _I don’t want to talk about this right now._ I could push back, but I don’t know what I’d be pushing for. Not cabbage-kicking and fish. . .whatever-ing, anyway.

“So, what’d you do for Kowalski’s actual birthday?” I ask.

“Well. . .” Fraser looks embarrassed, but he also drops the Canadian-country-boy nothing-to-see-here routine and says, slow and serious, “I’m ashamed to say that that first year, I was so focused on the idea of maintaining your cover that it didn’t occur to me to celebrate his actual birthday. As it happened, things were. . .a bit strained between us, that December—we had some roadbumps, as it were, in the evolution of our partnership, that came to a head not long after. In retrospect, I imagine that my failure to commemorate his birthday must have made things worse.”

I nod sympathetically. “But you got past all that.” 

“Yes. . .remind me to tell you about our piratical adventure one of these days when you’re sitting comfortably and have a couple of hours to spare.”

That Benny. Acts like he has no idea how weird he comes across to regular people, but then every once in a while he says something like that, perfectly straight-faced, totally making a joke at his own expense and expecting that no one will catch it.

And then, on the other hand, he probably means _pirates_ absolutely literally.

I actually do kind of want to hear the story. But I'm on a mission, here, and I'm not going to let him distract me even more than he already has. Besides, I bet it’d be more fun to make him tell it with Kowalski in the room to give his version.

“What about Kowalski’s birthday last year, then?” I ask instead.

“I was hoping to make it up to him with a celebration this past December, but I’m afraid his birthday got. . .well, swept under the rug due to a difficult case—or perhaps, confrontation would be a more accurate description. In any event, we did end up having a quiet dinner together after it was all over—and there was the precinct Christmas party, of course—but. . .” And hang on, there’s that wistful, far-off-ice-fields look again, as he trails off without finishing the sentence.

“But now you’ve got a grand plan for his birthday that you’ve been waiting two years to put into action,” I suggest.

“Not a plan, as such,” he says hastily. Just like that, he's all flustered again, like I’ve caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “And anyway, that’s six months away.”

“Sure, I guess a lot can happen in six months,” I say, not meaning much of anything, but it puts the wistful look back in Fraser’s eyes. 

“Indeed,” he agrees, looking over at the lunch counter. “For example, I remember a story my father told me. . .” and starts rattling on a mile a minute about musk ox and spring thaw and I don’t know what-all because I’m too busy wondering, _Is it a transfer after all? Does Benny expect to be up in the frozen North six months from now?_

I could ask him. I could. I could just say, _Hey Benny, are you planning to transfer to Canada?_ But I can’t. Call it cowardice, guilt, whatever, I don’t even know. All I know is, I can’t open my mouth to say the words.

Well, put it that way. . .what were we talking about that made Fraser pull out the flim-flam? His plans for Kowalski’s birthday. And come to think of it, he switched the subject pretty quick when we were talking about what the two of them did for his own birthday last year, too. Kowalski taking him out camping.  
  
Shit, of course. The two of them have traditions now. Just the two of them. Fraser had plans for Kowalski's birthday, and he probably had them for his own, too. Except here I am, horning in on their fun, taking over, forcing my own plans on them, and what's Fraser going to say, _Piss off, I want to celebrate my birthday with my new best friend?_

 _I’d happily celebrate with you and Ray this year._ That’s what he _did_ say. Well, sure, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t _rather_ celebrate it with Kowalski, alone.

I let Fraser fill the silence while I concentrate on keeping my mouth full of food so I don't accidentally blurt out something we'll both regret.

* * *

But a couple hours driving around town by myself, cursing the idiots who get behind the wheel in this town, and I’ve simmered down enough to think straight and admit that I’m being a jerk. Luckily, so far, I’ve only been a jerk in the privacy of my own head, not out loud to Fraser.

‘Cause the thing is, if he's tighter with Kowalski now than he is with me, I got nobody but myself to blame for that. I ditched him, Kowalski showed up to pick up the slack, and from everything I hear, Kowalski was a damn good friend to Benny while I was gone. Stupid to think that ought to change just because I waltz back into town. And seriously, what is this, second grade? I’m gonna throw a temper tantrum because my buddy has another friend he wants to spend his birthday with? I’m gonna sulk because he doesn’t like me _best?_ I’m a bigger man than that, for God’s sake.

And anyway, a birthday is all about what the birthday guy wants. If Fraser wants to celebrate with Kowalski, solo, for whatever reason, then that’s how it should be.

Of course, Benny would bite off his own tongue before he’d admit any such thing to my face, let alone ask me to step aside and let the two of them do their thing. And if I try to apologize to him now, he’ll just give me the polite stonewall, plus feel guilty for hurting my feelings. 

Kowalski, though. Kowalski’s like me, only with even less self-control. I bet that man’s never won the battle over who’s gonna pay the check in his life, if he’s even thought to try. I can apologize to him without twisting any knives. For that matter, I owe him a damn sight more than this, for covering my ass while I was away.

Funny, before I spent two years keeping books for the Mob, I never used to worry so much about what I owed people.

* * *

“Hey listen, about Fraser’s birthday.”

Kowalski doesn’t even look at me when I pull up a chair next to the desk where he’s comparing the sketches of our possible suspects to a book of mug shots.

“Look, when I asked you before about going in together for Fraser’s birthday, I wasn’t trying to horn in on whatever, like, traditions you guys already have. I mean, if you—” 

“We don’t.” Kowalski thumps the book shut and reaches for the second volume.

“You sure? ‘Cause I could swear Fraser mentioned one time that the two of you did some kind of camping thing for his birthday last year.”

He smacks the second book down on the first one and glares at me.

“Yeah, we did, and if you have to know, I was thinking maybe we’d do it again this year, but he said he had to stay home and alphabetize the Consulate paper clips, okay? That what you wanted to hear?”

“But. . .” 

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear; that doesn’t make any sense at all. If Kowalski’s sulking because Fraser turned down his birthday invite, then what the hell is Fraser moping about? And if Fraser wanted to do a birthday trip with Kowalski—which, why the hell _wouldn’t_ he?—then why did he say no? Or even if he hated the first trip, thinks Kowalski’s a lousy city-boy camper or something, he obviously doesn’t mind the idea of celebrating with Kowalski in general, so why didn’t he just make a counter-offer? Or—since this is Fraser we’re talking about—just somehow make his counter-plan happen anyway?

“But. . .” I splutter again. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Since when did Fraser ever make sense?” asks Kowalski bitterly.

“No, but—”

“Look, I’m trying to solve crimes, here,” he cuts me off, slicing the air with his hand, close enough to my nose to make me flinch. “I don’t have time for this. You going to do some work around here instead of standing around giving me chin music?”

I shut my mouth; the mood he’s in, I push him, I might get a sock in the jaw for my trouble, and that won’t help anything.

They’re both crazy. That’s all I can figure.

* * *

I gotta figure it, though. My brain won’t let it go, and besides, if Fraser and Kowalski are having a problem with each other, I’m the only person in a position to help them fix it. 

So what’s the problem? Well, Kowalski’s problem is he invited Fraser to go birthday camping with him and Fraser blew him off. Clear enough so far. Now, Fraser’s problem is he wanted to do something with Kowalski for his birthday and Kowalski. . .invited him to do something for his birthday. But Fraser turned him down.

Hang on, though. What if Fraser didn’t just turn down the invite? What if Fraser _turned him down?_ What if Kowalski wanted more from him than just a camping trip between buddies?

Now, I got no idea if Kowalski goes for guys as well as ladies, but let’s just say it wouldn’t be a shocker to find out he did. Benny _is_ bi, that, I know. But just because he likes guys doesn’t mean he’s into Kowalski like that. So maybe Kowalski made a play and Fraser gave him the let’s-just-be-friends speech? That would actually make sense of Kowalski’s behavior.

Might make sense of Fraser’s, too. All that delight at me acting like I’m Kowalski’s friend, like the three of us are friends: that could’ve been exactly as genuine as it looked. And being happy to do the birthday thing with both of us together, that would fit too. Make it clear it’s all just friends, make it clear that he still _wants_ to be friends with Kowalski, and meanwhile good ol’ Vecchio’s there to keep things from getting awkward between them. And when he got weird, talking about his plans for Kowalski’s birthday last year (before Kowalski made things complicated) and going squirrely about plans for Kowalski’s party this year (because he’s worried about whether they’ll still be friends by then, which is a totally reasonable worry). And the wistfulness, too: that could’ve been regret for hurting Kowalski, for not being able to give him what he wants. Or regret that they can’t go back to just being easy friends like before. Or both.

Well, damn. Poor Benny. 

You know, it used to piss me off, the way every woman he meets wants to get into his pants and he turns up his nose at all of them. Like he’s too good for them. Or too good for sex, like everybody else’s fun is trashy and he’s some kind of saint above it all. But eventually I caught wise—well, he pretty much shoved my nose in the truth of it with that whole Victoria Metcalf fiasco. Fraser’s an old-fashioned romantic. Fraser’s looking for love, and if it ain’t love, he’s not interested in the rest of it. I respect that; admire it, even. It sucks for everybody around him, starting with my own sister, but it sucks for Benny, too, because while he’s waiting to find what he’s looking for, he’s constantly got to fend off all these people offering him what he doesn’t want, demanding what he can’t give them.

And now he’s got to deal with it from one of his partners. A close friend, someone he cares about, even if not in that way. A guy he has to work with every day; a guy he wants to stay friends with. One of the few people he must’ve figured he was safe with.

Poor Benny, and poor Kowalski. ‘Cause he may be Mr. Poor Impulse Control, but I don’t see him propositioning his partner if he was just itching for a quick roll in the hay. A guy notorious for his inability to get over his ex-wife? Who obviously cares as much for Fraser as a friend as Fraser does for him? I just don’t think that’s Kowalski’s brand of dumb. If he made an offer, there were feelings on the table. Which means Fraser’s thanks-but-no-thanks would’ve really hurt.

Well, if that’s how it is, it ain’t so much fixable, not in the short term. But I can at least help smooth things over while they’re getting over the awkwardness and the hurt feelings and whatever. Play neutral buffer zone, like Fraser wants. Be the glue that holds them together so Fraser doesn’t flee to go be a hermit in Canada and Kowalski doesn’t go drown his sorrows in undercover work and get himself a bullet in the head.

How I ended up as the peacemaker voice of calm reason on this team, I don’t know, but hey, never let it be said that Ray Vecchio doesn’t step up to the plate for his friends.

* * *

Wednesday, Fraser shows up to the station right on schedule, and at first, it seems like business as usual. Me and Kowalski catch him up on our current case, the three of us banter and bicker a little as we head out to my car, being as how it’s my day to drive. 

Now, the normal routine is, no matter who drives, Fraser takes shotgun and the third guy sits in the back (with Dief, if he’s along, but Fraser left him home today). But when I pop the latch on the passenger-side door, Kowalski and Fraser practically knock heads reaching to open it. 

Fraser says, “Pardon me, Ray,” and Kowalski says, “No worries,” and they dance around each other a little, and finally Fraser lets go of the door and steps to one side so Kowalski can open the door. When he does, though, Fraser gets into the backseat like Kowalski was opening the door for _him_ , leaving Kowalski to take the front with a confused frown. I’m confused, too, but on the scale of weird Fraser behavior, that’s nothing. Maybe it’s his way of trying to give Kowalski a little breathing room.

“So, assuming we track Antiques Lady down, how’re we going to get her to talk?” I ask as I ease out into traffic.

“Kick her in the head?” suggests Kowalski, like he always does, because for some reason, it gets a rise out of Fraser every damn time.

“Much as I believe in thinking outside the box. . .” Fraser starts in, and we’re off to the races. 

Nobody seems to be pissed at anybody, at least. But there’s something off about the conversation. Takes me a little while to figure it out, but what it is, is Fraser’s being freakishly anal about talking to both me and Kowalski. Like, he’s literally alternating which one of us he addresses. Trying to make sure Kowalski doesn’t feel slighted, I guess, after whatever happened between them. Which, nice thought and all, but jeez, Benny, couldn’t you just talk to the man like a normal human being?

We don’t kick Antiques Lady in the head, obviously. Fraser talks to her charmingly and politely about French furniture and busts of Napoleon, while I stand there looking tough, and Kowalski rattles around the shop touching things and acting like he’s about one second from falling over his feet and smashing something expensive. This gets her so distracted and on edge that when he staggers into a glass case full of tchotchkes, she actually leaps for his throat. He yells in her face, “We know where you hid it!” and she screams back, “The idiot had no idea what it was worth!” At which point, Fraser pries her off Kowalski using minimum force, and says quietly, “But the Romano siblings have a very good idea, don’t they?”

The upshot is, we leave with a description of the fence who unloaded the statue on her and a bunch of historical details that I don’t follow except that Fraser seems to think it all boils down to a lead on who imported the damn statues into the US in the first place and therefore might be able to tell us where the other two went.

The minute we turn the corner, out of sight of the antique shop, Kowalski breaks into a victory dance, pumping his fists in the air and cha-cha-ing all over the sidewalk.

“Bing, boom, ba-da-boom!” he crows, face lit up with a big, goofy grin that makes him look like a teenager. “And Kowalski scores! She was putty in my hands!”

“You did, indeed, set her up very neatly,” Fraser agrees.

He’s watching Kowalski with this fond smile, like this goofy display is the charmingest thing he’s ever seen; like he wants to just put Kowalski in his pocket and take him home with him.

“I set ‘em up, you reel ‘em in,” proclaims Kowalski, spinning towards Fraser with his hand up for a high-five.

I’m about to ask _What am I, chopped liver?_ when Kowalski trips on the torn-up pavement and falls face-first into Fraser’s arms. Fraser catches him, of course, keeps the two of them from toppling over, gets Kowalski’s feet back under him. And they freeze like that for a long, long moment: Fraser holding Kowalski by both upper arms, Kowalski’s palms pressed against Fraser’s chest. Kowalski’s wide-eyed and breathless, but I can’t tell if that’s because of feelings or just from the fall.

Fraser, on the other hand. Fraser’s face, well. 

If this was a movie, it’d be time for a swell of violins and a lip-lock. And for a second, I actually think it’s going to happen. But Fraser lets go of Kowalski and steps backwards, out of arms’ reach.

Kowalski mutters, “Sorry Frase,” on top of Fraser’s late and hasty, “Are you all—?”

“Fine, I’m fine,” Kowalski cuts him off with a wave of his hand, turning away. “C’mon, let’s get moving. Vecchio, shake your tail.”

“Right you are, Ray,” Fraser echoes, a little late and a little too hearty. He follows Kowalski to the car and I bring up the rear, chewing on this new evidence.

That sure as hell wasn't a let's-just-be-friends look on Fraser's face just now. So, what? _Benny_ made a play and _Kowalski_ turned him down? But, no, that doesn’t jive. If Kowalski was the one who let’s-just-be-friends-ed Fraser, why’s he acting like Fraser kicked his puppy? Plus, the other day, he was talking like _he_ was the one who wanted something from Fraser that Fraser wasn’t willing to give. 

Well, so what if. . .Fraser being how he is, could be Kowalski asked, and Fraser fumbled it so badly Kowalski _thought_ he was getting the brush-off. It’s even possible Fraser doesn’t realize Kowalski misunderstood—or thought Kowalski was giving _him_ the brush-off.

Or maybe I’m smoking crack, making this whole theory up out of a couple of facial expressions and some wishful thinking.

“Okay, so next up, we track down what’s-his-bucket, the dealer dude,” Kowalski says as I unlock the car. “Get him to put us on the trail of those last two statues.”

“That’s a possibility,” Fraser says, looking over the car roof at me, not at Kowalski. “What do you think our next move should be, Ray?”

I stare at him, flabbergasted. Fraser can be funny about which social cues he notices and which he misses, but after all the trouble he went to earlier, to make sure Kowalski felt included and got a chance to shine, what on earth is he thinking, blowing him off now?

Sure enough, Kowalski’s staring at him, too, face crumpling into a scowl. He opens his mouth—to say what, I don’t know, but it can’t be anything that would improve the situation.

“Kowalski’s got the right idea,” I say, all cool and casual. “We don’t need to mess with the fence if we can get the dealer to talk. C’mon, let’s make tracks.” 

Fraser shoots me a grateful look. Kowalski blinks like he wasn’t expecting me to back him up, and steps back silently to let Fraser get in the back of the car.

* * *

Normally, at the end of the day, Kowalski and I go a couple rounds of friendly argument about whose turn it is to drive Fraser home. Not today: Kowalski vanishes at the stroke of quitting time, leaving me to offer Fraser a ride. Fraser agrees instead of doing the endless politeness dance he normally does, and before I know it, there we are in my car, the two of us. 

Dead quiet. Not a peep out of Fraser, no enlightening Canadian anecdotes, no criticizing my driving—not even when I run a red light on purpose to get a rise out of him. He just stares out the window; if he were a cartoon, he’d have a little rain cloud over his head, drizzling down.

“Benny, I’m your friend, you know that, right?”

“Of course, Ray.”

“So if you need anything—ever—you know you just have to ask.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly. He sounds. . .emotional, more than he usually gets, although I can’t really see his expression even when I glance his way.

I wait, but he doesn’t say anything more. Not that I really expected him to.

“Just. . .” I try again. “What I’m trying to say is, if you need help, or. . .or, you know, advice, or just someone to listen. . .you can talk to me. You know? I mean, that’s what friends do, right? Tell each other their problems, help each other out.”

“Of course, Ray,” he agrees. And doesn’t give an inch.

 _Or about, you know, their love lives. Friends talk about that stuff, too. You maybe got some news for me, Benny?_ I can hear the words in my head, I can practically taste them on my tongue, but I can’t for the life of me spit them out.

Once upon a time, this would’ve been easy. Maybe even a little funny, teasing Benny about finally being interested in somebody, about the way he’d get all cute and flustered talking about it, or not talking. . . Yeah, but the thing is, I know he gets flustered when he’s into somebody because I saw it, just once, the day I knocked on Fraser’s door and found out he’d called in sick to spend the day in bed with her. I also know what he looks like when his heart’s breaking in slow motion; yeah, I got to see a lot more of that look. And I know what he looks like lying on the pavement bleeding out from the bullet I meant for her. 

We don’t talk about that.

“And you’d tell me, right?” I blurt out. “If you were in trouble, or, or thinking about transferring back to Canada, or—”

“I’m not going back to Canada,” he interrupts—interrupts, in a non-emergency situation! His voice is intense, almost stern, and out of the corner of my eye I can see he’s turned to look straight at me. Like convincing me of this is a matter of life and death.

“No?” I ask, stupidly. 

“No. I—I do miss home, of course, but I’d rather be here, working with you and Ray. Your friendship—there’s nothing more important to me. Except my duty to uphold the law.”

“What if they ordered you back?” I ask, not because I think that’s likely to happen before Hell freezes over, but I’m curious what he’ll answer.

“I’d resign,” he says, without even hesitating. Holy crap. “Ray, I—I know I haven’t always been the best friend to you, but I—I’m trying. I won’t fail you again.”

“It’s okay, Benny, you’re fine,” I assure him, trying to hide how much of a loop he’s just thrown me for. “We’re fine.” 

“Good,” he says. “I’m glad.”

He turns his face to look out the side window again before I can get a glimpse of his expression.

“And. . .you and Kowalski?” I manage to ask. Not too smooth, there, Vecchio, but I’m all out of smooth at the moment, and hey, blunt worked a second ago. “Are the two of you. . .fine?”

“Yes. Ray and I are fine.” I still can’t see his face, but his voice. . .it’s _almost_ that voice of total sincerity that he uses to convince you that gangsters can reform and Santa Claus is real, and normally that voice works on me, but tonight there’s a note of pleading in it. “Please don’t worry about it, Ray. It’s all going to be fine.” 

“Sure, of course, Benny,” I agree, because what else am I going to say? “It’s all going to be fine.” 

* * *

It’s not until I’m brushing my teeth that the penny drops. See, all that stuff about Canada and friendship, I’d thought that was just a red herring. Kowalski’d freaked me out, talking like Fraser might be planning to scram, and I’d just wanted to make sure that whatever the problem was, it wasn’t _that._ And then, you know, me and Frase, we got some baggage between us that isn’t entirely settled, and maybe won’t ever be. So, yeah, when Benny said _I won’t fail you again_ , he didn’t have to spell it out, I knew he was talking about Victoria. But—I realize with my mouth full of Crest foam—what I missed was the part where Benny thinks he has some reason to _worry_ about it happening _again._

And he’s not worried about what a reasonable person would be worried about, namely, getting his heart shredded again, being betrayed again, being left alone and bleeding out again. Unh-unh.

_I won’t fail you again._

Not a red herring.

Because from everything I’ve heard from Frannie, Huey, Stella, hell, even Welsh—and from the evidence of my own eyes and ears since I got back—for the past year and a half, Fraser and Kowalski have been buddies, tight as you can get, got a groovy thing going on. And from Fraser’s own mouth, I’ve just been hearing about how they celebrated each other’s birthdays, just the two of them: camping trip; nice, quiet dinner. And how he was looking forward to doing all that kind of thing again this year. So, now, all of a sudden there’s trouble in paradise, because why? What changed?

Ray Vecchio came back to town.

Fraser’s problem isn’t with Kowalski at all.

This is about him and me.

This is about how he smiled and clapped me and Kowalski on the shoulder in the hotel like he wanted us all to be best friends; and how he did it again when he heard Welsh had made me and Kowalski partners. And it’s about me disappearing to Vegas, and me in a hospital bed telling him to run off and get Muldoon with Kowalski, and mostly it’s about that god damned train station.

He turned down a romantic birthday getaway with Kowalski that he totally wanted to go on, because he thinks he owes me.

Because he doesn’t want to lose me, too. Which, hey, back atcha, Benny, but you’re allowed to have a love life. It wasn’t the girlfriend part I had a problem with, it was the bank robbery and the murder and the framing you and. . . 

Well, I can’t tell him that. I mean, probably I _should,_ that would be the mature, sensible thing to do, but I just can’t have that conversation. He can’t; we can’t.

Fortunately, I don’t have to. I’ve got a better idea.

* * *

I pull into the parking lot behind the nightclub, Fraser in the passenger seat in honor of him being the birthday boy, Kowalski in the back. (I made Fraser leave the wolf home, because he may be like family, but mighty few establishments in Chicago will let him in the door, as Fraser knows damn well by now. That was how I put it to Fraser, anyway.) You can hear the thumping beat of the music from out here, but the lot's clean and well-lit, nobody dealing drugs or having sex up against the back wall. A classy joint, as these things go.

I hold the door open with a flourish for Fraser, who, being Fraser, walks right in without pausing to scope out what kind of a place it is. 

Kowalski, on the other hand, grabs me by the collar and shoves me up against the wall. Yeah, he read the name over the front door, he knows this neighborhood, he knows exactly what kind of place it is.

“Are you out of your fucking _mind?”_ he snarls, getting right up in my face. “This is where you take _Fraser?_ For his _birthday?_ What kind of boneheaded, asshole kind of present do you—?”

“Take a chill pill, Stanley.” I stay loose, hands at my sides. Pretty sure he won’t actually hit me if I don’t make any sudden moves. “This ain’t the present, it’s just the wrapping.”

He actually stops and chews that over for a second, though his grip on my shirt doesn’t relax. I can see on his face when he gets it; his eyes flicker to the door, where Fraser went, then back to me, all puppy-dog hopeful for about two seconds before he glares at me more fiercely than before.

“Not me, jackass.” I roll my eyes, because seriously? Is the man really this dense?

He lets go of me, but he’s still giving me that look he likes to give perps, the one that says, _Just because I’m not punching you in the face right now, don’t think that means I won’t change my mind later._

“If you’re wrong about this, Vecchio—”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m not wrong,” I tell him. And it’s almost 100% true, because I was less sure about Kowalski than about Benny, and now it’s clear Kowalski wants it. Wants it bad, but then, him and Benny, they’re both all-or-nothing guys. Which, in this case, is a good thing. “Now, c’mon, let’s go rescue Fraser before he’s crushed to death by a swarm of horny twenty-year-olds.”

Kowalski doesn’t say anything, but when I sling my arm over his shoulders, he doesn’t try to shake me off. Lets me tow him inside.

It’s actually not as tacky in there as I’d worried it might be. No disco ball, no blow jobs happening on tables or even in dark corners, as far as I can see (though I wouldn’t lay odds on the bathrooms). It’s just your pretty standard, too-loud, too-crowded nightclub playing horrible dance music. Only there’s not a woman in sight.

Fraser’s standing just inside the door, casing the joint with just his eyes, not bothering to hide the bewildered expression on his mug. Which is not because he doesn’t understand what kind of place this is, now; the dance floor’s packed with men dancing with men, and Benny’s a country boy but also smart as all hell. What he doesn’t get is why we’re here. He sees me and Kowalski coming in and aims his puzzled frown at me, but it’s not a _Ray, please rescue me from this overwhelming place_ frown, it’s a _Ray, please explain your mysterious plan_ frown _._ Fortunately for him, that’s just what I’m about to do.

“Benny,” I say as we come up next to him. Actually, I pretty much have to shout over the music. “Kowalski’s got something he wants to say to you.”

Fraser’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise—and it’s not every day anyone manages to faze him. He looks at Kowalski, who’s standing with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets like a sulky teenager. Fraser licks his lips, and if I had any last doubts about whether I called this whole thing right, they’re gone now.

For a second I wonder if I’m going to have to walk Kowalski through the whole damn thing, but no: he’s with the program. He slides out from under my arm, rolls his shoulders, and stands up straight, looking more formal than I’ve ever seen him (not that that’s saying much). Lifts his chin, looks Fraser in the eyes, and holds out his hand.

“Dance with me?”

Fraser meets his eyes for a long moment—and surely Kowalski can see that Fraser wants him; it’s obvious to _me_ from here. But then Fraser looks over at me.

“Hey, you kids have fun, I’ll grab us a table.” I give him a big smile and a wave, holding his eyes so he can’t miss that I’m for real. 

Fraser gets a look on his face like the ceiling fell on him, just for a second, and then, _pow,_ he lights up like the fourth of July. He gives me this big, goofy grin I’m not sure I’ve ever seen on his face before. Then he turns back to Kowalski, still smiling like his face is going to bust open, and if that smile impressed me, it obviously knocks Kowalski flat. Fraser has to not just take his hand but actually lead him onto the dance floor, and Kowalski nearly trips over his own feet, he’s so out of it. But once they get there, he pulls it together, gets one arm around Fraser’s waist and pulls him into a way better ballroom dance hold than I’ve ever managed in my life. This isn’t really a ballroom kind of place, or song, but Fraser obviously doesn’t mind one bit, and Kowalski steers them through the crowd like it’s easy, which means he must be a pretty damn good dancer.

It takes me a couple of minutes to find a table and order us some drinks. Once I’m settled, I scan the dance floor, and oh yeah. There they are. The music’s changed to something slow and croony, and they’re slow-dancing, snuggled up so close together you couldn’t fit a piece of paper between them. Kowalski’s got his arms around Fraser’s waist and his head on Fraser’s shoulder. I can’t see his face, but his body is all supple and fluid and—okay, I’m going to say it, _swoony._ And as they rotate, Benny’s face comes into view, and he looks like, just, if he were a cartoon he’d have little hearts where his eyes should be.

Then those shiny-happy eyes turn this way, searching until they find me and lock onto mine. 

I grin and give him the thumbs-up and he gives me the tiniest nod in return. Then he lifts Kowlaksi’s face, cupping it in both hands, and kisses him. And not just a PG-13 kind of kiss, either. Full-on Frenching, in front of me and God and a room full of strangers.

Well, that’s Fraser for you. Poster boy for “if it’s worth doing, it’s worth going the extra mile. 

They’ve only got eyes for each other, now, but I raise my glass in their direction, murmuring, “Happy birthday, Benny.”


End file.
